hey there

hi, i'm krysta and welcome to my blog... evil chef mom. if you want to know how i came up with such a ridiculous name for a blog click here. anyways... this is a sometimes blog. sometimes it's about food, sometimes it's about crazy ludicrous things that seem to only happen to me, sometimes it's about family. i post about whatever pops into my addled wacked out adhd brain [oh hey! look it's a squirrel!]. if you want to join the crazy train... hop aboard and keep reading. don't say i never warned you!

11/24/07

Thanksgiving turned out rather well. No one died from food poisoning or mass mashed potato suicide. So it's all good. Will, little sous chef #3, peeled 12 pounds of potatoes, without complaint, even after everyone else bailed out on him. If my brothers and sisters did that to me, I would've found a way to beat the living crap out of them. Now I know why they still run away from me.

While everyone was waiting to eat some turkey, we watched Ratatouille, nothing says Thanksgiving like watching a rat cook! Don't get me wrong, I love the movie, but I hate the part when all the rats are in the kitchen cooking. *shudder* After the movie, the turkey still wasn't done. The house smells great and you are sooo hungry, what do you do now? You play Guitar Hero III. Even my mom got into the act by playing Slow Ride by Foghat. It keeps your mind off the wonderful turkey smell coming out of the kitchen but the trade off is, you have Slow Ride in your head for the next couple days.

Slow ride...take it easy...

After dinner, was a mean game dominoes and Scrabble. I do mean, mean. Bad words, locking up the game just because you can, and if you don't call out your points right away you're not getting them. It's pretty cut throat. Literally. My family shows no mercy. All and all, it was a normal Thanksgiving.

Now on to the best part, leftovers. Last night for dinner we used some of the ham to make ham & cheese omelets. I say we, because I prepped, and the man, Rich, came home after a 12 hour shift and made omelets. He kicks ass and irritates me. His omelets are light and fluffy and perfect. Mine, not so much. When I point this out to him all pissy like, because you know, it is my kitchen. He just tells me," Yeah, but you do all the barbecuing." That always shuts me up. That's right, I AM the grill bitch. (just get a copy of Anthony Bourdain's Kitchen Confidential and read it already!) So what if my husband can make a better omelet than me, I can out grill him. It all evens out. Now if I could get Slow Ride out of my head.